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Mystery of the Locks

<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2> <h3>DAVY'S BEND.</h3> It was generally agreed among the people of Davy's Bend—a thousand in number, the census said; six hundred they said themselves, for they changed the rule, and exaggerated their own situation unfavorably—that the town possessed more natural advantages than any other in the world. They demonstrated this with great cleverness, by means of maps drawn on brown wrapping-paper inside of the stores, and, after looking at their maps, they triumphantly exclaimed, with a whack of their fists on the counter, "There are the figures; and figures won't lie." But in spite of their maps showing valleys occupied with railroads (which Capital neglected to build), Ben's City, below them, continued to prosper, whereas Davy's Bend continued to go steadily down the hill. The people did little else than wonder at this, and curse Capital because it did not locate in a town where nature was lavish in the matter of location, instead of going to a place where it would always find the necessity of contending against odds confronting it. Such a town was Ben's City, in the estimation of those living at Davy's Bend; but they must have been mistaken, for great houses and institutions grew up where little had been planted, and men with money trampled upon each other in their mad haste to take advantage of the prosperity that seemed to be in the air. Those who drew the maps declared that a crash was soon to come, when the capitalists who did not know their own interests would trample upon each other in their haste to get away; but those who bought Ben's City property, no difference at what price, soon sold out again at an advance; and the prosperity of the place was quite phenomenal. Never was Capital so thoroughly hated as in Davy's Bend. It was cursed a thousand times a day, and shown to be fickle and foolish and ungrateful; for evidences of these weaknesses on the part of Capital abounded on every hand. There were railroads to be built out of Davy's Bend that would pay immensely, as had been demonstrated times without number by the local paper; but Capital stubbornly refused to build them, preferring to earn a beggarly per cent elsewhere. There were manufactories to be built in Davy's Bend that would make their owners rich, as every child knew; but Capital, after a full investigation, was so dull that it could not see the opportunity. The town was alive with opportunities for profitable investments, but Capital, with a mean and dogged indifference, refused to come to Davy's Bend; therefore Capital was hated, and bullied, and cursed, and denounced; and it was generally agreed that it deserved no better fate than to go to ruin in the general crash that would finally overtake Ben's City. The people of Davy's Bend were a good deal like a grumbling and idle man, who spends the time which should be devoted to improving his condition to grumbling about his own ill luck and the good luck of his industrious rival, who is steadily prospering; and as men frequently believe that the fates are against them when they are themselves their only opposition, so it was generally believed in this wretched little town that some sort of a powerful and alert goddess was in league with Ben's City. While they readily admitted their own points of advantage, even to the extent of giving themselves more credit than they deserved, they refused to be equally fair with their competitor, as men do, and contended, with an ignorant persistency, that Ben's City was prosperous because of "luck," whereas they should have known that there is no such thing, either good or bad. But, in course of time, when they found that they would always be in the rear, no difference whether they liked it or not, the people of the Bend, in order to more thoroughly denounce their own town for its lack of ability to attract Capital, began to exaggerate the importance of Ben's City. A four-story building there became seven stories high, and those who visited the place vied with each other in giving vivid and untruthful accounts of its growth and prosperity on their return; all of which their acquaintances repeated over and over, though they knew it to be untrue, even adding to the exaggerated statements, in order to bully their own meek town. Probably they were not proud of the greatness of their rival; for they talked of it as a cowardly man might exaggerate the strength of the fellow who had whipped him, using it as an excuse for defeat. Indeed, they were proud of nothing, except their own accounts of the greatness of Davy's Bend a long while before, when the huge warehouses were occupied, and before Capital had combined against it; of this they talked in a boastful way, magnifying everything so much that many of the listeners who had not heard the beginning of the conversation imagined that they were talking of Ben's City; but of bettering their present condition they had no thought,—by common consent it was so very bad that attempts to become prosperous again were useless, so the Bend was a little worse off every year, like an old and unsuccessful man. Most of the business men of Davy's Bend had been clerks in the days of the town's prosperity, making their own terms when their energetic employers wanted to get away, and in spite of the general dullness and lack of success, they entertained very good opinions of themselves; for no difference what a citizen's misfortunes were, he loaded them all on the town, and thus apologized for his own lack of ability. But for the circumstance that he was tied to Davy's Bend, he would have been great and distinguished; they all said the same thing, and in order to get his own story believed, every man found it necessary to accept the explanations of the others, or pretend to; so it happened that the people did not hold themselves responsible for anything,—the town in which they lived was to blame for everything that was disagreeable, and was denounced accordingly. The esteem with which the people regarded themselves was largely due to the manner in which they were referred to in the local paper, a ribald folio appearing once a week. None of the business men were advertisers, but they all gave the publisher free pardon if he referred to them in complimentary terms in his reading columns, and sent in his bill. Thus, the merchant who did not own the few goods he displayed was often referred to as a merchant prince, with an exceedingly shrewd business head on his shoulders. Sometimes notices of this character were left standing from week to week by the shiftless editor; a great number of them would occasionally get together on the same page, referring to different men as the shrewdest, the wisest, the most energetic, etc.; and it was very ridiculous, except to the persons concerned, who believed that the people read the notices with great pleasure. So great was the passion for puffery among them that designing men who heard of it came along quite frequently, and wrote the people up in special publications devoted to that kind of literature. There would be a pretence that the special edition was to be devoted to the town, but it really consisted of a few lines at the beginning, stating that Davy's Bend had more natural advantages than any other town in the world, and four pages of puffs of the people, at so much per line; whereupon the men made fun of all the notices except their own, believing that its statements were true, and generally accepted as a part of the town's history. A few of those who were able had engravings inserted, and the puff writers, in order to make the notices and bills as large as possible, told how long and how often the subjects had been married; how many children they had, together with their names, where they came from, and much other mild information of this character. It was known that many of the complimentary sketches were written by the persons to whom they referred; but while Harrisonfield, the grocer, gave wide circulation to the fact that Porterfield, of the dry-goods store, had referred to himself as an intellectual giant, and a business man of such sterling ability that he had received flattering offers to remove to Ben's City, he did not know that Porterfield was proving the same indiscretion with reference to himself. Every new man who wrote up the town in this manner was more profuse with compliments of the people than his predecessor had been; and finally the common language was inadequate to describe their greatness, and they longed for somebody to come along who could "write," and who could fully explain how much each one was doing for the town; but although they all professed to be doing a great deal constantly for Davy's Bend, there was no reason to believe that any of them were accomplishing anything in this direction, for it could not have been duller than it was in the year of our Lord just referred to. But there was an exception to this rule, as there is said to be to all others,—Thompson Benton, the merchant; the dealer in everything, as the advertisements on his wrapping-paper stated, for he advertised nowhere else. But he was reliable and sensible, as well as stout and surly; so it was generally conceded that he was the foremost citizen of the Bend. Not that he made a pretence to this distinction; old Thompson was modest as well as capable, and whatever good was said of him came from the people themselves. Had there been new people coming to Davy's Bend occasionally, it is possible that old Thompson would not have been the leading citizen, for it was said that he "improved on acquaintance," and that people hated the ground he walked on until they had known him a dozen years or more, and found out his sterling virtues; but they had all known him a great many years, and therefore admired him in spite of themselves. Thompson Benton had been a resident of the town in the days of its prosperity, and ranked with the best of those who had moved away; but he preferred to remain, since he had become attached to his home, and feared that he could not find one which would suit him equally well elsewhere. Besides, he owned precious property in the Davy's Bend cemetery, and lavished upon it the greatest care. Hard though he was in his transactions with men, the memory of his wife was sacred to him; and many believed that, had she lived, he would have been less plain-spoken and matter-of-fact. This devotion was well known; and when the people found it necessary to forgive him for a new eccentricity,—for it was necessary to either forgive him or fight him,—they said he had never recovered his spirits since the day a coffin was driven up to his house. His store was always open at seven in the morning, and the proprietor always opened it himself, with a great iron key that looked as venerable and substantial as the hale old gentleman whose companion it had been so many years; for it was not a key of the new sort, that might lock up a trifling man's affairs, but a key that seemed to say as plainly as could be that it had money and notes and valuable goods of many kinds in its charge. At six in the evening his store was closed, and the proprietor turned the key, and put it into his pocket. At noon he ate his frugal dinner while seated on a high stool at his desk, and he had been heard to say that he had not eaten at home at midday in fifteen years; for on Sundays he dined in state at five o'clock. There were no busy days in Davy's Bend, therefore he got along without a clerk, and managed his affairs so well that, in spite of the dulness of which there was such general complaint, he knew that he was a little richer at the close of every day, and that he was probably doing better than many of his old associates who were carrying on business with a great deal of noise and display in Ben's City. Certainly he was reputed to be rich, and those who were less industrious said that he should have retired years before, and given others a chance. Thompson Benton was known as a plain-spoken man, and if he thought one of his customers had acted dishonestly with him, he said so at the first opportunity, and gruffly hoped it wouldn't happen again; by which he was understood to mean that if it did happen again, there would be a difficulty in which the right would triumph. Indeed, he had been known to throw men out of the front door in a very rough manner, two and three at a time; but the people always said he was right, and so it usually turned out, for he was never offended without cause. If an impostor came to the town, the people were fully revenged if he called at Benton's store, for the proprietor told him what he thought of him, and in language so plain that it was always understood. Thompson Benton's principal peculiarity was his refusal to be a fool. The men who threatened to leave the town because they were not appreciated received no petting from him; indeed, he told them to go, and try and find a place where they would not grumble so much. The successors of the business men who had moved away were always trying to invent new methods as an evidence of their ability, and some of them did not pay their debts because that was an old, though respectable, custom; they rejected everything old, no matter how acceptable it had proved itself, and got along in an indifferent manner with methods invented by themselves, though the methods of their inventing were usually lame and unsatisfactory. For such foolishness as this old Thompson had no charity, as he believed in using the experience of others to his own profit; so he raised his voice against the customs of the town, and though he was usually abused for it, it was finally acknowledged that he was right. But notwithstanding his austere manner, the people had confidence in old Thompson, and many of the town disputes were left to him. If the people had spare money, they asked the privilege of leaving it in his iron safe (which had belonged to the last bank that moved away), and took his receipt for it. When they wanted it again, it was always ready; and if the Ben's City cracksmen ever came that way to look at the safe, they concluded that the proprietor would prove an ugly customer, for it was never disturbed. His family consisted of a maiden sister almost as old and odd as himself, and his daughter Annie, who had been motherless since she was five years old. The people said that old Thompson never smiled during the day except when his pretty daughter came in, and that his only recreation was in her society during two hours in the evening, when she read to him, or played, or sang. They were all certain that he was "wrapped up" in her, and it was also agreed that this devotion was not without cause; for a better girl or a prettier girl than Annie Benton was not to be found in all the country round. The house in which he lived was as stout as brick and mortar could make it; for the people said that he inspected every brick and stick as it was used; and when it was completed, his prudish sister, whom he referred to as the "Ancient Maiden," was equally careful in the furnishing, so that it was a very good house, and kept with scrupulous neatness. The Ancient Maiden's drafts were always honored, for nothing was too good for Thompson Benton's home; and those who went there never forgot the air of elegant comfort which pervaded everything. Though Thompson Benton went down town in the morning with the men who worked by the day, and carried a lunch basket, he dined in the evening in state, surrounded by silver and china both rich and rare; though he worked ten hours a day, and ate a lunch at noon, he slept at night in a bed and in a room which would have rested a king; and his house was as good as any man's need be. Very early in life Annie Benton learned, somehow, that it had been one of her father's pleasures, when he came home at night, to listen to her mother's piano-playing, when that excellent lady was alive; and, resolving to supply the vacant place, she studied so industriously with the poor teachers the town afforded that at fifteen she was complimented by frequent invitations to play for the glum and plain-spoken merchant. If she selected something frivolous, and played it in bad taste or time, and was not invited to play again for a long while, she understood that her music did not please him, and studied to remedy her fault. In course of time she found out what he wanted, though he never gave her advice or suggestion in reference to it; and he had amply repaid her for all the pains she had been to by saying once, after she had played for him half an hour in a dark room, while he rested on a sofa near her, that she was growing more like her mother every day. "There were few ladies like your mother, Annie," old Thompson would say, when the girl thanked him for his appreciation. "It pleases me that you remind me of her, and if you become as good a woman as she was, it will be very remarkable, for you have had no mother, poor child, to direct you in her way." Annie would try harder than ever, after this, to imitate the virtues of the dead woman, and bothered the Ancient Maiden a great deal to find out what she was like. She was not a drone, that much was certain; therefore the daughter was not, and tried to be as useful in the hive as she imagined her mother had been, in every way in which a worthy woman distinguishes herself. In like manner the girl learned to read to please her father, and every day he brought home with him something he had come into possession of during the day, and which he wanted read; a book, a pamphlet, or a marked paragraph in a newspaper,—he seemed to read nothing himself except business letters; but none of these, or any mention of his affairs, ever came into his home. Annie Benton's mother had been organist in the big stone church near The Locks, which the first residents had built in the days of their prosperity, and the girl learned from family friends that her father regularly attended both services on Sunday, to hear the music; perhaps there were certain effects possible on the great organ which were not possible on a more frivolous instrument; but it was certain that he never attended after her death until two or three years after his daughter became the organist, and after she was complimented on every hand for her voluntaries before and after the services, and for her good taste in rendering the hymns; for old Thompson was not a religious man, though he practised the principles of religion much better than many of those who made professions. But one summer morning the girl saw her father come in, and occupy the seat he had occupied before her mother's death, and regularly after that he came early and went away late. Except to say to her once, as they walked home together, that she was growing more like her mother every day, he made no reference to the subject, though he pretended to wonder what the matter was when she threw her arms about his neck after they reached the house, and burst into tears. One Sunday afternoon he had said to her that if she was going down to the church to practise, he would accompany her, and after that, every Sunday afternoon he was invited to go with her, although she never had practised on Sunday afternoons before. Arriving there, an old negro janitor pumped the organ, and the girl played until she thought her father was tired, when they returned home again, where he spent the remainder of the day alone; thinking, no doubt, of his property in the cemetery, and of the sad day when it became necessary to make the purchase. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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